


of little routines and short braids

by Mothfluff



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Ineffable husbands - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hair Braiding, I dunno what else to say it's really just Aziraphale braiding his hair, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, TLC, little moments of life, soft and careful and nice and everything Crowley didn't have for far too long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 08:27:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20150626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mothfluff/pseuds/Mothfluff
Summary: Something that was supposed to be a TINY ficlet forgingerhaole'swonderful art ofCrowley getting his hair braidedbut then turned a bit longer.





	of little routines and short braids

**Author's Note:**

> This is entirely a response to [gingerhaole's](https://gingerhaole.tumblr.com/) wonderful art of [Crowley getting his hair braided](https://gingerhaole.tumblr.com/post/186837097042/one-soft-demon-gets-the-extra-tlc-he-so-richly) that I couldn't stop staring at. I needed to write something for it. So there you go!  
Please check out her tumblr, her art (and Good Omens art specifically) is AMAZING and I've been loving her for years now.

It had become part of their own little rituals each morning, ever since Crowley had decided to grow his hair out again.

„It's your own fault for following every new fad, dear.“ Aziraphale would tut, every time Crowley got needlessly angry about the strands in his face, or getting stuck on buttons. „Just because men these days are doing the whole hairbun-thing again-“

„It's this or the lumberjack beard, angel.“ Crowley would grumble back, and Aziraphale would still immediately. Anything but the lumberjack beard. [1]

So now, every morning in their bathroom routine (not that they really needed one, but it was nice to get a few more minutes of quiet togetherness while brushing teeth and sorting out clothes for the day), Aziraphale would brush Crowley's hair, tie it in a nice little ponytail, and send him on his merry – or not so merry, considering the demon – ways with a kiss on the neck.

Crowley lived for these moments. Not that he'd ever admit it out loud. Not that Aziraphale needed to hear it to know.

Quiet moments of touch that meant nothing else but comfort. Sharing the couch instead of Aziraphale sitting in his armchair. Standing next to each other, arms brushing, in the tiny kitchen above the bookshop, trying out a recipe before deciding that dining out might be the safer option. (Neither of them was susceptible to food poisoning, but they weren't going to risk it.) Aziraphale stroking his longer and longer hair as he read his books, Crowley only half-asleep next to him in bed, soon to drift off completely, but wanting to savour this little moment- There were lots of quiet moments now for Crowley to enjoy. His flat seemed all but forgotten, his most priced possessions already in Aziraphale's little home. [2]

He'd not yet had the courage to tell his angel that the flat was more than forgotten, actually – it was already sold. Not that he cared for money much, but seeing the snug businessman paying twice what the place was actually worth was good enough. He wasn't quite sure what Aziraphale would think of his sudden proclamation that he lived here now, in this cramped and untidy little place that he'd always considered more of a home than any other place he'd lived in.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, wasn't quite sure what Crowley would say to the fact that he'd been looking for even quieter, further off places for the two of them. (He, of course, knew all about Crowley's slow but certain conquest of his place, starting with 'left behind' clothes and ending with the Leonardo sketch proudly hanging between a few of his best first editions in the shop. The demon was a lot, but he was not subtle. As much as he wanted to be.) He wanted more quiet moments for themselves as well, if only to see the utter bliss on his demon's face. So he kept looking.

* * *

“Sit down, darling.” Aziraphale gestured to the small armchair they'd placed in the bathroom not long ago, right next to the tub, so that the angel could read his books – sometimes aloud - while Crowley took another of his endless baths. [3]

All he earned was an incredulous look from Crowley. This was a break in the routine, obviously. He'd never had to sit for his hairbrushing before, and like a cat that was suddenly presented with a completely new type of food, he had to investigate further, even if it was nothing troublesome at all. Aziraphale sighed.

“I thought of something I'd like to try, is all. With your hair. But I think it might get a bit tiresome if I do it with you standing up.”

Oh, well, that was certainly more interesting. Crowley dutifully sat down and turned just so Aziraphale could reach his hair without much trouble. The usual brushing began, and Crowley closed his eyes. It would be over far too soon anyway, his hair wasn't yet long enough to warrant a proper treatment, so he had to savour what little he could from this moment.

And the brushing did end, just seconds before a purr could build up in his throat (he'd reached that point only once, and stopped immediately when he heard Aziraphale's soft giggle, for which the angel still felt guilty). But instead of the usual gathering of hair to tie up, Aziraphale seemed to take his time. Soft fingers kept stroking through his hair, as they usually did at bed time, separating strands, lifting up into little fluffs, pulling back carefully what had drifted in front of his face again, sometimes carefully scratching on his scalp.

Crowley wondered for a hot second if that was all Aziraphale had meant by 'something to try' – not that he'd be complaining at any point. He could feel the purring build up yet again, trying his best to keep it under control to not break the moment, but when the angel's fingertips pushed along his neck, up into his hair, mussing it up and pressing into his skin in a soft massage – well, it came out less a purr and more a small, quiet groan.[4]

“Good.” He heard Aziraphale quietly say behind him. Crowley still didn't like that word associated with him, but at this point he'd let the angel say anything he wanted as long as he kept going with the fingers and the hands and the stroking and-

With one last brush through his hair, Aziraphale stopped. Crowley had a hard time not letting out a quiet whine, now. He barely opened his eyes before he heard him mumble again.

“Let me try this. Oh, I do hope I don't mess it up.”

Soft fingers carded through his hair again, more precise this time, separating specific strands, and Crowley closed his eyes again. He'd lost track of time anyway, and he didn't care if it took 10 minutes or 10 hours until the angel had figured out how to do 'this'.

It didn't take that long for him to realise what Aziraphale was attempting to do. He could feel the strands of hair being pulled together, held between fingers, woven together not quite as precisely as Aziraphale seemed to like, considering how often he restarted a part of the braid.[5]

Minutes passed in complete silence, only barely interrupted by Aziraphale's short “oh!”s und “oh dear!”s when he misplaced a strand or messed up again. Crowley begged for him to mess it up again and again and again and-

at some point, though, he could hear the elastic snap around his hair, shortly followed by the same soft fingers placed on his bare shoulders.

“There, well, that was a- a first attempt, I'd say.” Aziraphale sounded a bit flustered, as usual, and Crowley couldn't help but smile.

“It's good, angel.”

“You haven't even looked at it yet. Your eyes are still closed.” Aziraphale tutted, but his hands were already back to straightening a few missed strands on his forehead.

“Don't have to.” Crowley didn't even try to hide his smile. “It's good, angel. Really good.”

“Well, then.” And the soft hands pulled his head back, ever so slightly, to place a soft kiss on his forehead instead of his neck this time. “I'm glad I did good.”

* * *

_ _

1 It's not that he had anything against the fashion choices Crowley made – he'd love him in any look – but he did remember some previous beard choices of the demon and tried not to shudder while thinking about them.[return to text]

2 His most important possession, of course, having already lived there for several centuries. [return to text]

3You might think placing an armchair in a moist bathroom was a recipe for mold, but neither of them had even thought about this being an option, so of course, the armchair did very well not to catch any of the moisture in the air and stayed lovely and plump, just like both angel and demon wanted it to be.[return to text]

4Not a moan, no, there was definitely a very big difference between a groan and a moan, and Crowley was very, very clear about which one he was ready to admit he was doing. Demons didn't moan. Safe for a very few exceptions, of course, but Aziraphale was very, very clear that he'd better not mention them if he wanted to keep the peace. [return to text]

5A french braid, to be precise. Crowley definitely knew the difference, and wondered for a while what his angel's obsession with French things were – french crepes, french braids, french toast, french ki- well maybe it was all just a weird human habit of naming things as french even though it had nothing to do with the country.[return to text]


End file.
